


On the Edge of the Abyss

by nuttyasafruitcake



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, True Blood
Genre: Apathetic Harry, Crossover, Dark, Dimension Travel, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-28 13:52:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2734952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuttyasafruitcake/pseuds/nuttyasafruitcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had always had several expectations as to what existed inside the veil. Though whatever he had imagined, a long journey to another world had not been it. Not even in his wildest dreams could he have fantasised about a world in which no Voldemort existed. It was magnificent... although the vampires were a downside. Eventual Eric/Harry</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own True Blood or Harry Potter!
> 
> A/N: A new fic... while I know I shouldn't write another one, the idea for this one refused to leave me alone so I just had to write it.

 

**Prologue**

He had always had several expectations as to what existed inside the veil. Maybe a world unlike anything humankind had ever seen, or nothing at all but death. Though whatever he had imagined, a long journey though darkness had not been it. When he thought about it, he should have known better than to use it as an escape for his situation at the time. Really, he should have known better than that.

The veil consisted of darkness. No, 'darkness' was the wrong term for the state of the world inside the veil. 'Nothingness' was a much better expression to define just how it appeared in Harry's eyes. It was a vast area of nothing. The size was indefinite; there was no feeling of time and no temperature whatsoever. If Harry had not been aware of his own body, to a degree, then he would have thought he was dead.

It was suffocating, consuming and after a while Harry could feel his own personality slowly slip away. The person known as 'Harry' - _was that his name?_ \- was withering away. Evaporating from the body it had inhabited, and he lamented his inability to restrain it inside himself.

In the beginning, he had cried and screamed for help, but he had soon understood that there was no salvation in the godforsaken place inside the veil. Slowly as time, or what felt like time, passed by a numb feeling consumed him. And while he probably should have feared the indifference that overtook him, he could not muster up the strength to care.

The most peculiar thing about being in the veil was that the loss of 'Harry' did not indicate that he lost his memories. No, it was more of a loss of connection to the personality he had associated with himself. The opinions and emotions connected with certain memories were wiped clean. The result of this was a huge amount of memories he felt no connection with; it was quite peculiar.

He - _Harry?_ \- closed his eyes, even though he knew he saw the same darkness whether he had them closed or open. He was just a part of the darkness and nothing he did would make any difference.

**—øØø—**

He was no longer sure who he was, or who he was suppose to be. Inside his head, there were memories belonging to a man he felt no connection to. It felt as though he was watching a movie without engaging in its contents, but unlike a movie he had no choice but to watch.

He could not look away, no matter how hard he tried. No matter how much he wished to forget it. He did not desire them. They were disturbing to watch, and he felt pain for whoever had experienced them even if he was only a spectator.

Only a bystander that held no connection to the memories.

Only an observer.

Nothing more.

**—øØø—**

When the atmosphere changed in the land of nothingness, he - _whoever he was_ \- felt it at once. The change brought with it a peculiar feeling of being lowered into water - cold and heavy water.

He exhaled and inhaled, eyebrows furrowing as the uncomfortable sensation swept over him. As time went by the feeling increased, and - like any sane being - he tried to move away from it. Though such a thing was impossible; he knew that. After all, he had been in a constant fall for years, maybe even centuries, where the only direction he could move was downwards - which was far from voluntarily.

The darkness or nothingness, in the veil, altered, attaining a greenish colour like a spruce's needles. It tightened around him; a bone crushing pressure that enveloped his body and refused to let go. Through it all the never ending fall never halted, it only continued throughout all the changes inside the veil.

Then suddenly he was floating completely weightless, but only for a moment, before he felt a harsh pull in his chest. It was similar to having a rope attached to his torso, where all his weight was hanging from a thread and now, unlike earlier, there were absolutely no movement. Completely still, he was dangling like a doll suspended by manipulating ropes and threads.

Then it wrenched him upwards, slowly but surely. He was about to inhale in shock as a very harsh tug pulled him upwards, but as soon as he opened his mouth water streamed down his throat, into his lungs. Suffocating from the sudden lack of air, he clutched his throat, body thrashing around in what he now understood to be water. He was drowning. Was this really how it would end?

He screamed, but only small air bubbles escaped - no sound but the one in his own head. Dragging his hands through the water, he tried to find a way to a surface he hoped existed. Though it was impossible to see anything through the greenish water, and which direction was up, or down for that matter, was unknown. He would die here if this continued. Confused, scared and alone.

Never the one to give up - _who never gave up?_ \- he continued to struggle, trying to find salvation. And just as he thought he would lose consciousness, and disappear into the darkness, his hand broke through the surface, and humid summer air hit his cold skin. Not seconds later he managed to inhale the fresh air. He swallowed air greedily, eyes blurry and unable to really see his surroundings. He coughed water up from his lungs.

After a few more moments of disorientation and panicked whirls back and forth in the water, he finally accomplished to look at his surroundings. At first nothing made sense. It was as though he was looking at something he had never seen before and had no idea how to understand it. He had been in a world of nothingness for such a long time, that when he finally saw something that normally would make sense it became confusing and unknown.

Blinking in shock, he closed his eyes forcibly as he inhaled. When he opened his eyes again, it made a bit more sense. He was in something similar to a lake, enclosed by trees, though what type of tree it was he could not say. Only a few meters from his current position there was a small wharf with a ramp. Not wishing to remain in the uncomfortable water that had tried to steal his life only minutes earlier, he clumsy swam towards it. When he gripped the ramp, he breathed relieved out. He only managed to hoist himself up on the wharf before he collapsed.

The summer heat felt comfortable against his naked body. It had been so long since he had felt anything, so everything was welcome. Though the experience of almost drowning was not something he wished to repeat, ever.

He sighed as he glanced up at the sky. It was a completely clear night sky with millions upon millions of small stars, so beautifully calm and so far away that he could only dream about touching them. Exhaling shakily, tears began to gather in his eyes as emotions came bouldering inside his chest. Every kind of emotion returned to their rightful place after having abandoned him for such a long time. Finally, he felt whole; at peace.

This world, wherever he was, was real. It had trees, stars and water he could drown in; it was spotted and dangerous but that made it so incredibly wonderful. He was alive and not just an empty box with memories.

Harry - _that was his name_ \- stretched his back and became aware of the pain racking though his body. It was wonderful to be alive, but no matter how much it filled him with happiness it was also painful. Harry rolled over on his stomach and tried to push himself up from the hard wooden wharf, but failed miserably. There was no strength in his muscles and no matter how many times he tried, he only managed to push himself few centimetres up from the wharf.

Harry sighed, banging his head painfully against the wooden planks. Had he really managed to escape from the veil only to die alone on a fucking wharf?

It felt ridiculous that this was how it would end, but he did not exclude the possibility that fate hated him enough to let him die at the current spot. Fate had certainly fucked with him before, so who could say it would not do it again?

Harry closed his eyes in resignation, knowing that he would not move anywhere without help. The summer heat caressed his body and after a while of relaxation sweeping through his body, he fell into a light slumber. He was woken up by the soft sound of branches snapping. Blinking tiredly, he glanced towards the area he was certain the sound originated from, though unfortunately his current position hindered him in seeing what it was.

More branches were snapping, and now he was convinced that the creator of the annoying sounds was a human being. Someone was closing in on his position. Harry felt hope blossom in his chest, but it died out moments later. What if, whoever it was, had hostile intentions?

He swallowed forcibly, closing his eyes in worry. But when he thought about it if the person wished to hurt him then there was nothing Harry could do. Unable to move and fight back. His fate laid in the hands of whoever it was. The footsteps seemed to halt somewhere in the woods before they quickened, almost running onto the wharf and towards Harry's body.

"What the fuck!" He heard a male voice exclaim in shock. Harry glanced up towards the voice in curiosity. He had been right; it had been a man, but it was rather difficult to see his appearance in the darkness.

The man kneeled down beside Harry as he threw off his thin summer jacket to throw it rather hurriedly over Harry's naked figure. A gentle hand lifted his head up on the man's lap, and not long after a warm hand brushed over his neck, checking his pulse.

"Are you alright?" He asked rather worriedly, and Harry opened his mouth to respond ironically that - _he was just fucking fine, could he not see that?_ \- but the words got caught in his throat. His breath hitched and he began to caught violently.

The man shifted, probably about to give Harry a powerful slap on the back so that whatever had gotten caught in his throat would be coughed up. Harry shook his head, and fortunately after a few more coughs he managed to breath normally. It had probably only been some water.

"Can you hear me? Are you alright?" The man asked and now that the man close to him, Harry managed to see him clearly for the first time. His saviour - _saviours did not exist_ \- was a young man, probably in his early 30's, with warm grey eyes and shaggy brown hair.

"What's your name?" He questioned, eyes bright with concern.

"I feel like shit." Was the only words Harry managed to bite out. Shit, he felt horrible, like the world was moving in the wrong direction. Dizziness overcame him, and he closed his eyes in a futile attempt to hinder the growing nausea. He clutched the man's jeans.

The world was vanishing into darkness. Harry sobbed as he lost sight of the trees and the lake, he was losing consciousness. The last thing he was aware of was the annoying beeping sounds of a phone, and the man's panicked voice.

For a change, he welcomed the darkness, knowing he would be able to escape it sooner or later.

**— øØø —**

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	2. Boredom: the Desire for Desires.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Normalcy comes easily once the mind settles. Or so Harry believed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been waaaaayy too long since I updated.   
> However, here it is; chapter 2!
> 
> Enjoy!

**Boredom: the Desire for Desires**

**Leo Tolstoy**

 The mirror had shattered slightly in its edges. 

It had not been anything to look at when it had been bought, new and clean, and was disturbingly depressive now that it lacked a few shards and deep cracks ran along its edges. The glass itself was undeniably grey and murky; a heavy curse laid upon the dark bathroom. Maybe the source of its appalling appearance came from dirt and dust or age. Whatever the cause, it was a horrible sight.

Harry desperately wanted to remove it. However, unfortunately for the bathroom, he could not prioritise lifting the curse; not with his current paycheque.

Every morning, when he woke up to get to work, approximately 6.30, he would trudge tiredly into his minuscule bathroom and meet his reflection. It was the fact that the mirror actually reflected anything at all that made it even less desirable.

  
The glass would echo its surroundings and show Harry an image of himself that every other person saw. An image disconnected with the way Harry perceived himself.

So, when Harry thought about it, it was not the current mirror that was the problem, just mirrors in general. Every surface that could, in any capacity, reflect was undesirable. _So remove it_ , was a thought that always would appear when he reflected on its hateful existence.Although, if Harry removed it then he would only demonstrate that he could not confront his own problems.

Not that he was confronting his problems at all when the mirror was hanging on the wall.

The journey from his beloved, but loathed, home to the new world had changed him. His very being had bene folded into something else. He could feel it. Yes, sometimes he could even see it. His existence had disintegrated. Broken up into dust and then reconstructed in another frame, another skeleton.

The result was a timeless and indefinite skeleton that was in constant putrefaction.

 

* * *

 

Normalcy comes easily once the mind settles. Or so Harry believed.

His arrival had not been anything spectacular. Dehydrated, malnourished and weak, Harry had been stuck in a hospital bed for weeks. The time had ticked by in the clock above his head and Harry had felt lost. His lost feeling did not originate from disorientation to place and time; no, Harry was not delusional. He was fully aware, and knew how he had traveled from one world to another. The transport device was known, just not the mechanic behind the device itself.

The feeling that haunted him was a result of him not feeling anchored in the new world. It felt as thought he was a ballon far away from earth, lost and adrift.

It was difficult not to belong. More so than it ever had been when he had lived with the Dursley’s.

But life went on, and the feeling of disconnection lessened over time. Now it only lingered in the back of his mind. Constant but discreet, reminding him of the fact that he had no place there.

No birth certificate indicating his birth.

No proof of his existence.

And no individual to prove that Harry James Potter actually existed.

Now, Harry, or what was left of ‘Harry’ after the journey through the veil was a lonely existence. At first his only company had been his memories and nightmares. At day soothing. At night tormenting. 

Fortunately, he could, and would, live with that.

The man, who had saved him from the green water, had introduced himself as Sam Merlotte when Harry had been lucid for the first time. And with the introduction Harry achieved a person who knew that a man named 'Harry Potter' breathed the same air as every other person. 

Sam had been standing close to the white clothed bed, eyes alight in unexplainable concern for a stranger. Harry had stared into the man’s brown eyes and smiled weakly as he realised that Sam had no intention of letting Harry walk away from the hospital alone.

Sam had kept himself two short steps behind Harry ever since. Radiating heat and a concerning awareness of abandonment.

Maybe he saw Harry as a source of forgiveness for past crimes. Or redemption. Or maybe he just longed for closeness as much as Harry once had done. It was impossible to say what Sam really desired. Nevertheless, Sam had taken a seat at the front row in Harry’s life and presumably intended on keeping that place for as long as possible.

Harry did not complain.

 

* * *

 

The library was haunted by emptiness; as it often was. Small and crowded by bookshelves, there were little space for man. However, it was a comfortable room, full of dusty and old books waiting to be borrowed by people, who rarely came. Harry had fallen in love with it the first time he had borrowed a book there. The light above him had flickered and the old man by the counter had coughed loudly. It was a world of its own. Old and dying, and Harry had felt a desperate need to get a last taste of that world before it vanished. 

The owner was old enough to be dust, with long white hair and missing teeth, but he, unlike so many Harry had met in the new world, was not scared of death. Rather he accepted its slowly arrival in his body. He was a wonderful man with so little time left. 

The library itself was a small squared room, but it made up on space by having a second floor. A small compact stair, built to occupy minimum space, stood at the far end of the library going up to the upper floor. Unfortunately, the second floor was no higher than approximately 1.70 meters so few women and men felt welcome there. 

Not that it mattered. Few people ever came. 

Harry licked his lips, looking at his current book over the rim of his glasses. He did not need them - his glasses -, not anymore, but it felt 'safe' to have them resting at the top of his nose. Like a shield protecting him from everything unknown. Such a childish belief.

The dusty air in the library shifted as the heavy oak door creaked, struggling painfully to move from its usual frame. Suddenly, it swung as if young again, before coming to a sudden halt. Harry knew, from experience, that the door would not move another inch. Even when forcefully pushed, the bulking floor would never let it move naturally again.

“What…? “ Deep, and slightly hoarse; it was a strangers voice.

Harry’s eyes widened slightly in interest as he heard the unrecognisable voice. It was not Richard, Emma, Sofia or Theresa; none of these people were able to speak in such a tone. It was a new visitor. He stood hurriedly up from his chair, the floor screaming as he shifted and leaned carefully against the counter.

He listened intently to a few other helpless attempts at opening the door further, before he kindly spoke. “It’s no use, that door will not move further unless kicked down… And I certainly don’t hope you'll go to such lengths to enter. The owner would be furious.”

The shuffling halted suddenly and the visitor sighed. “Well, then…” A black, leather boot shifted inside, and closely behind the owner followed clumsily. Once, the man had to take a step back when his jacket was caught by the door-handle, but he managed to enter the library without any physical injury. His emotional state, however, was fatally struck. Frazzled and humiliated, the, Harry now realised, gorgeous man glanced hesitantly around the room.

“If I were you, I would fix that horrid door now.” He bit out irritatingly, brushing his large - _breathtaking_ \- hands through his maroon locks.

Harry was studying the man intently now, his earlier boredom forgotten; slaughtered by the arrival of this captivating man.

_And how long will he be captivating?_

Shaking his head, refusing to let his usual mindset control him, Harry smiled. “What can I do for you? Is there anything special you’re looking for, Mr…?”

The other man laughed loudly as he glanced around the room, hands lifting in amusement. “Why would I want anything from this old, junk shop?”

Harry sat slowly down into his chair, lifting an eyebrow.

The man smiled widely at Harry’s expression, sharp, blue eyes glancing appreciatively over his features. “Jessie, Jessie Baxter,” He murmured, his hand once again pushing heavy locks away from his eyes. It was an unconscious habit, that much was obvious.

Nodding, Harry closed the book at the counter. “So, Mr. Baxter-“

“Just so you know, Jessie is a male name,” Jessie spoke hurriedly, as if correcting Harry after a terrible, almost unforgivable, mistake had been made. “-just as it can, sometimes - I imagine - be a female name… However, I am certain few parents will ever name their baby girl ‘Jessie’. After all, it is a very masculine name.” His blue eyes were staring chillingly at Harry, as if challenging him to disagree.

“I am certain,” Harry began, “that ‘Jessie’ is a perfect name for a handsome specimen such as yourself.” Licking his lips, Harry studied the man.

Wondrous was the only word Harry could use to describe Jessie. His maroon hair was thick and slightly curly, falling down around his neck. Harry could already imagine how wonderfully smooth those locks would feel on his fingers. Skin, tanned but not tainted by the sun, was gleaming, young, at the brick of life. Indeed, Jessie was the symbol of youth, with all it's beauty and disfigurement. Not that Jessie’s only appeal rested in his hair and skin. His facial features were a sight to behold; even his slightly long nose was irresistible when moulded beside tantalising lips. Not to mention that his body was beautifully proportioned. He was not fit, nor robust, but handsomely lanky. 

Jessie smirked. “Yes, I can’t deny my perfection.” As he spoke, his coal coloured eyes searched yearningly over the room's surface, before halting suddenly. They rested in passion at the jug at the counter. At his face reflected in the glass.

_Oh._

A small, oh so harmless, comment was all it took for Harry to truly see Jessie. The man in front of him promised an end to his daily boredom. Why? A simple reason really. He was a narcissist. A wonderful, twisted human being who, if Harry had to guess, continually was sitting at the riverbed, staring lovingly at his own reflection.

“Charming,” Harry returned, “do you say that to every person who gives you a compliment?”

Jessie opened his mouth to reply, but Harry lifted his hand in rejection. “No, don’t answer,”

Holding his breath for a second, Jessie rolled his shoulders.“I _am_ gorgeous - even you think me captivating - so you can’t say I’m wrong in loving myself. However… however, you too have a beauty. Not on level with mine, of course,” _of course_ , Harry returned humorously. “but," Jessie continued, "it is worth studying from time to time.” As Jessie was talking, his left foot was tapping hurriedly against the floor. A soft and almost unnoticeable drumming, that Harry would not have noticed if he had not spent hours upon hours in the silent library. Maybe another habit?

“Thank you, I’m honoured by your compliments.” Harry leaned back into the chair, staring intensely at Jessie, who had begun to glance around the library with obvious distaste. “I can’t help but notice you’re dislike for books, or maybe it’s just for this bewitching, dying, room,” Harry gestured to the room. “ - so, please, don’t be too offended when I ask you. What are you doing here? If no words will satisfy you, what will? There is nothing here, but old tomes and creaking floors.”

“Please, go out with me.” It left Jessie’s lips in a puff of air. Nervousness tinted his tone, but underneath there was a clear current of excitement, and another unidentified tone.  “I saw you, some days ago, when you closed the shop. I was standing on the other side of the road, studying my reflection in the window, when you grasped my attention - and let me tell you, it is unusual for a mere man, or woman for that sake, to catch my eye. I-“ He glanced away from Harry, swallowing convulsively for a moment, before he continued. “I need to feel you, somehow. So let me take you out, just for an evening, just for a night.” Jessie inhaled sharply, eyes refusing to look at Harry. 

If Harry had been anyone else, he would have identified Jessie's action as embarrassment. Or maybe the fear of rejection.

However, he could taste the lies. Sweet, acidic and amusing; Harry had no reason to reject the man. Not when Jessie had annihilated Harry's apathy - for the time being. 

“Why not,” Harry pushed his ugly glasses further up on his nose. “Where? If you don’t mind me asking,”

The wooden floor exhaled in agony as Jessie stepped forward, closer to the counter. The door had been left ajar, and gusts of fresh air disturbed the desolate dust-desert on the floor.

Jessie threw his hands out in exhilaration. “There’s only one place that’ll accept grandeur and beauty,” His lips was stretching over his white teeth, pink and flushed with life. “ _Fangtasia!_ ”

 

**To be continued.**

**Please leave a comment on your way out.**


	3. The Real Tragedy of Life Is When Men Are Afraid of the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry was fully aware of the toxin spilling out of Jessie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this hasn't been edited or beta read, so if you see any grammar or spelling mistakes, I would be grateful if you could point them out for me!  
> Enjoy!

**The Real Tragedy of Life Is When Men Are Afraid of the Light**

_**Plato** _

 

He often dreamt of Grimmauld Place.

Standing outside, on the other side of the street, he would just stare at it and the house would stare back. It was recognizable only because he knew what to look for. The curtains that belonged to another century and the shadowy presence of the house itself. For so long had it been overlooked behind spells and wards, that it had lost itself. And now only a shell remained.

In his dream he would do nothing more than gaze at it. And as superficial seconds passed by Harry always felt as though he, too, was a nonexistent shell, existing for no apparent reason but to collect objects no one desired.

Of course, warm and colorful memories existed inside the house, but they were overpowered by Grimmauld Place’s consuming darkness.

Jessie Baxter was a representation, a personification, of the house. He was bewitching in contrast with the building, but the man, just like the house, did not provide any warmth or color. A parasite leeching onto the innocence and beauty around him.

Yes, Harry was fully aware of the toxin spilling out of Jessie.

The music had died down in the car and the overpowering sound of raindrops attacking glass dominated the interior of the vehicle. A flash of cold, white light, soon followed by a deep rumbling. It reminded Harry of a musical performance where the orchestra was the clouds, thunder, lighting and rain; together creating the a foreboding composition. Despite the possibility that it was an omen of things to come, Harry refused to consider it.

After all, he was on his way to a vampire bar with a person he knew was trouble. No other warning was needed. The red lights in the back of his head had been flashing since the first evening he had met Jessie two weeks earlier. He had had enough time to consider life and its meaning, now he only fancied some unfortunate events. A series of unfortunate events.

Jessie’s car was nothing out of the ordinary, which had boggled his mind when he first saw it. After asking and receiving a curt reply of , “Contrast of light and dark enhances both of them. My beauty, as you can imagine, is ‘light’ itself”, Harry easily came to the conclusion that it wasn’t Jessie’s car. And since he did not ask any deeper into the matter, he deduced that it was either a borrowed or a stolen car. Harry really didn’t care which.

His gazed at Jessie, whose eyes were undecided of where to look and was constantly jumping between Harry, his pelvis to be exact, and the road. The car remained on the right side of the road, a complimentary achievement in Harry’s opinion. Especially, since he, himself, never had steered a muggle vehicle.

“I’ve never been to the vampire bar,” Harry muttered, a teasing smile pulling at his lips as he crossed his legs and rolled his hips. “and maybe you’ll remind me why were going there and not to somewhere less… questionable?”

Jessie’s eyes was creeping over Harry, leaving a path of slime behind them. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and for a moment Harry sighted self-approval before it disappeared and was replaced by open admiration. But for who? “Ah, I understand your fear. Yes, I do, you see I, too, felt uncertain about going there at first. I thought it would devour my beauty, my endless appreciation for eccentric things - But it did not. Quite on the contrary, I was invited inside and welcomed as one of their own! Me! Yes, they did. I and my aura, my lure. Not could I be tasted, for my life blood is… Ah, I am a being of sexual desires.” He rambled and as he did Harry followed Jessie’s gaze; there, down by Harry’s legs, in the side of the car door a small mirror. Displaced and glued amateurishly on the door, paste oozing out on the sides.

Glancing back at Jessie, who was lost in himself, Harry nodded. “Well, that does explain it all,” boredom had departed at the arrival of unpredictability. “Do tell me more, Jessie.”

Lighting up, Jessie grinned, an expression closer to a grimace than a smile on the man’s face.”Vampire’s are and will be fascinating - more so in their interest in me. When I first went there a woman greeted me specifically! All other visitors walked past, unnoticed and ignored, but me, no, me she did not - could not - disregard. Asking for my ID-card, she studied it for minutes before asking me, captivated, how old I was.” He rolled his shoulders, smug. “I guess I look much younger than I really am.” Snickering slightly to himself, Harry long forgotten at his side, he continued in a quiet whisper. “I am beauty.”

A hard, cold rock had settled in Harry’s stomach. If he moved there was a possibility that his lunch would make an appearance and bless them with a mixture of Mac’n Cheese and marmalade. Both agreeable separate, not as a half-digested mass of hatred. Swallowing, he let his head fall back against the seat, considering his current self-destructive tendencies. It was clear that Jessie was bad - hideous - news. And if Harry had any self-preservation then he would run, apparate, do anything to get away.

However, there it was, in the back of his mind; the probability of boredom.

A quick glance at Jessie decided his fate. The man was staring at Harry now. And for the first time he was actually seeing Harry and not his own reflection in his glasses. Cold, assertive and judging, as if deciding a price. As he noticed Harry’s gaze, his eyes warmed and his gestured forward, sight slipping back on the road. “We’re here,”

**øØø**

Harry had expected a castle with towers and looming guards, all with moony skin and piercing eyes. However, what had met his eyes as Jessie pulled into a parking slot, was a warehouse with no obvious decoration on the exterior and only a somewhat concealed neon sign indicated that they had, indeed, found Fangtasia.

Lean bodies moved over the front square, pulled into the bar though a open door. It was stunning to observe the movements of the creatures of the night for the first time. Harry had read of them, even seen pictures, but never had he spoken to one. Excitement bubbled up, and Harry gripped Jessie’s arm forcibly as he pointed to the entrance with his other hand. “Is that it?” A question only meant to voice his thrill.

Jessie hissed in pain and pinched Harry’s skin, forcing him to let go in discomfort. Nursing his stinging hand, he glared at Jessie, who looked at the entrance in contemplation. “Mmmm…” A humming, affirmative sound in the back of his throat was all Jessie replied with.

Not desiring to spend another second in the car, he opened the door and patted Jessie on the shoulder. “Let’s go,” Pushing his leg out, he hesitated. “I want to go inside.”

Jessie pursed his lips. “I think we should go inside, let’s go.” He murmured and it was clear that he hadn’t listened to a thing Harry had said. So engrossed was he in his reflection. It was tedious at this point. Maybe he had overestimated Jessie’s ability to humor him with his narcissistic tendencies.

As they strolled up towards the entrance a thrumming noise reached their ears. The sound of drunken human beings and hungry vampires moving together with the music. It was entrancing in its sheer sexuality and lack of self-consciousness. Harry could see why Jessie liked the place; it was swarmed with people absorbed by beauty in every aspect.

The bar was furnished in a careful balance between overpowering red and consuming black, not welcoming nor rejecting its guests. Entering, Harry’s eyes fell on the dancing mass of bodies, sweaty from twisting movements and desires. His language was incapable of describing the whirlwind of sensations breezing though the room.

Jessie guided him up to an empty table, a cool hand resting at Harry’s hips. The air stilled as they walked across the floor and he noticed some beings halting in their careful seduction to gaze their way. A cold shiver ran down his spine. It had to be Jessie’s reputation gathering their attention, he told himself as he sat down by a table.

“I’ll get us some drinks,” Jessie shouted over the music as he trudged to the bar counter. Harry lifted his hand to catch his attention, but with no avail. He hadn’t specified what he wanted to drink.

The entire evening was turning out to be a let down. A horrible, revolting feeling was struck in his throat, refusing to let go, and the intense stares sent his way shock his very being. Harry could invite death and trouble without a second thought, but fevered gazes alarmed him in a way nothing else could.

He gazed around the room, only studying people with flowing blood. Whatever it was that had caught the vampires’ scrutiny, Harry wanted nothing to do with it. However, judging by how they looked at him, there was little chance of him rejecting the substance that had captured their minds.

Still, wasn’t it this he had yearned for? Fear and exhilaration mixed together, surging though his veins? A twisted smile pulled at his lips and he leaned his head back, displaying a pale neck. As if on cue, a ferocious snarl joined the pulsing music. _Yes, this was it_ , Harry though as his hands twitched in instinctive terror.

“A Bloody Mary for you,” Jessie murmured as he placed a wine glass in front of him, forcing Harry out from his inner monologue and halting advancing men and women. Eyes furrowing in curiosity and puzzlement, he stared down at the glass, not sure how to interpret the choice of cocktail.

“Thanks,” he supplied after a second. “Though… Why a Bloody Mary and not,” he nodded towards Jessie’s foaming beverage. “A beer?”

Jessie shrugged. “Why not? You certainty seem like a person who’d enjoy a Bloody Mary.” Harry had no idea how to decipher the comment and decided to kept his mouth blissfully shut. Instead choosing to stare skeptically down into the cocktail’s red liquid.

“How is it? Is it good?” Jessie asked nonchalantly. A bizarre question when they both knew he hadn’t touched it.

“I haven’t tasted it yet,” Harry replied truthfully as he looked at Jessie. “It’s… fitting, don’t you think? Drinking a Bloody Mary in a bar crowded with blood-thirsty vampires.”

“Ah, yes,” An indifferent, detached answer; Jessie was somewhere else once again. Nodding for no apparent reason at all, Harry lifted the cocktail to let the liquid pour down the back of his throat. He was in dire need to cloud his judgements and be as intoxicated as possible.

As he emptied his glass, his eyes fell on Jessie. Though the crystal, the man was distorted and disfigured, an ugly figure of deformities with eyes gleaming in greed and self-indulgence.

He placed the glass carefully down when it was empty, feeling an euphoric mixture of dread and ecstasy surge though him.

“It’s good,” Harry murmured. “Very good, in fact.”

“I know,” Jessie breathed out in excitement as he leaned against the table, staring into Harry’s glazed eyes. “I’ll get you another one, wait a minute.” He pushed his chair back and stood up, nodding in pleasure at Harry before he sauntered away.

“No, I-“ Harry began but as soon as he opened his mouth, his breath stuttered and his hand flew up to press against his lips and nose. A nauseousness that did not originate from instinctive or foreboding emotions had risen up his throat, threatening to expel the contents of his stomach.

He opened his eyes, not remembering when he had closed them, and glanced around after Jessie. The man was leaning against the bar counter, staring in Harry’s direction.

Harry inhaled shakily as he tried to swallow down the queasiness. Leaning forward to rest his head on the table, he felt how his stomach was turning in on itself, skin swiftly losing its cool, heating up, and his head rolling in disorientation.

“Harry, what are you doing?” Jessie asked as he stalked up to their table with another Bloody Mary. “I can’t recommend resting here, too many people would take advantage of you. Are you… sick?” Harry considered sending a swift curse at him, but reconsidered. Jessie Baxter had signed up for something far worse. His beautiful hair had to be extracted and his eyes gorged out, forever denying him the sigh of himself. Yes, Harry could already imagine it.

He sat up straight, exhaling as he stared down at another Bloody Mary in front of him. Jessie could wait to be mutilated. Harry was too curious about the outcome of the evening to halt or retreat.

“Cheers,” he murmured, smiling broadly as he swallowed scarlet poison.

**To be continued!**

**Please leave a comment on your way out!**


	4. The Value of Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally gathered up motivation to continue writing. And, I must say, I'm actually pretty happy with this chapter.
> 
> Warning: Not proofread. I apologise for any grammatical mistake you may find within this chapter.
> 
> Enjoy!

**The Value of Nothing**

Total and unpredictable unawareness is never a threat. Or so Harry had realized after several accidental losses of consciousness. Why? Simple. Absolutely nothing can harm the unconscious mind. Inside the realm of forgotten thoughts and dreams there were nothing to fear but the mind itself. No knife nor bullet could travel through the walls separating reality from a man's slumbering mind. Within, Harry was sheltered from anyone and anything.

His physical body could suffer, bleed out or crumble. No matter, no thought would ever travel into the darkness without getting lost. Nothing would reach the slumbering consciousness.

That being the case, his current state was both unfortunate and distressing. Stuck in a wavering condition where his mind was in a constant sway in-between unconscious and conscious thought, Harry had grounds to be displeased. He was incapable of properly succumbing to the darkness, but also powerless over his own limbs.

It was an agonizing reminder. As if he once again had fallen into the veil.

Capable of thought and sensation, he was susceptible to pain. He'd rather be drowning in his own mind than slowly suffocating.

Harry became aware of a shuffling sound. At first he thought it had been a creation of his own imagination. However, now that it increased in volume, it became increasingly clear that at least one of his senses was in perfect condition. A weakness waiting to be exploited.

"Species?" A whisper through the agitated landscape, cold and foreign.

"Human.." Hoarse, smug and oh, so familiar. Harry felt nothing but a stirring sensation of acceptance.

Yes, four Bloody Marys and a narcissistic fool made a magnificent cocktail for the bored.

A pen danced over stiff paper, reminding Harry of a hush. A demand for silence and obedience. A command Harry heard, processed and let fly further into the darkness of his mind.

"Gender?"

"…Male…" Yes, his bodily composition did indicate that he was, in fact, a man.

"Age?"

"Early 20's," No, inaccurate. Harry was nearing his late 40's by now, not including the years he had spent in the veil.

"Name?"

"Harry Potter." Harry James Potter. A name he had been given at birth, nothing more, nothing less.

The unfamiliar individual hummed silently, pen tapping against paper. Silence spread like a disease. Then, after several minutes of controlled breathing. "Any skin irregularities we should be aware of?"

"Not that I know of," Jessie drawled.

An incomprehensible whisper, an order, and several hands were brushing over Harry's bare,  _cold_ skin. His eyes were forced open, permitting light and sight. However, only momentarily and the vague outline of other people, all dressed in white, registered before his eyes once again fell shut. Capturing him in total darkness. Ears, mouth and scalp were examined thoroughly. Every possible spot that could hide  _irregularities._ At last, the chaotic sensation of being probed from the inside-out faded, leaving Harry with an uncomfortable, tingling feeling.

"There's an irregular color detected on his tongue, Doctor." Another, a woman, said softly.

"A tattoo?"

Harry felt his head being tipped back as his mouth was pried open by gloved fingers. "Possibly. The symbol appeared to be created by a cluster of concentrated natural pigments, rather than ink, Sir. Similar to freckles in contrast to the tongue's natural skin tone." His mouth was becoming unbearably dry from long exposure of air.

"This will decrease its value," the unknown individual muttered in disapproval.

Jessie sighed loudly. "It's on the tongue, no one will see it."

Lead hit paper harshly and Harry heard Jessie swallow harshly. Nothing else was said.

A steady mist had begun to gather in the back of his mind. Slowly but surely gathering and fortifying, a barrier between him and the conscious mind.

"The symbol's design?"

Letters, words and a sentence into the darkness. The sounds reached his ear, but the meaning got lost in the thick mist. His mind wavered and capsized in the chaotic, black sea, also knows as the unconsciousness.

**øØø**

_"_ _Never forget, Harry." She had been unforgiving, awful even. At any chance, she'd grip into his shoulder with sharp nails and whisper harshly into his ear. "I'll never forgive you if you do," Then silently, mockingly she'd add. "Neither will you."_

_The same words, a constant warning she never allowed him to forget._

_Because they both knew he was a runner and if he got the chance, he'd run._

_He'd dash across the dark room towards the tall and narrow arch, expecting a solution, an end, to his predicament._

_The only way he'd erase the curse etched into his flesh._

**øØø**

_"_ _Never forget who you are, Harry." Hermione had always whispered, aging voice stirring with emotion. She'd grip his shoulders to push him against her in a warm embrace, strong arms keeping him still and present in the world they'd both been born into. Softly, sympathetically, she'd whisper into his ear. "I'll never forget you," Then gently she'd brush his hair away from his youthful face. "Neither will you."_

_It always rained on such days._

_Both outside and inside._

**øØø**

Bones shattered and a ghastly scream escaped bloodied lips. The doctor was curling in on himself, eyes forced shut in an useless attempt on excluding the pain. His white coat had been decorated with a splatter of crimson, bringing life to his sterile appearance. It made a pleasing picture. Human life was so fickle. So prone to unexpected suffering. To death. Oh, he held no sympathy for such creatures.

_The media have noticed a human trafficking circle catering to vampires, fix it._ Or so the Queen had murmured in-between a mouthful of flesh. Dispose of every trace connecting us to a tasteless and recognised circle trafficking human flesh. Simple. Why he had to be involved at all was beyond him.

Eric leaned heavily against the white wall and sighing in vexation, eyes staring dispassionately down at the twisting being at his feet. According to the report, written hours before the raid, no vampire connection to the organisation had been found. The clients had, indeed, been non-human citizens, but none had been involved in the creation of the catering system. Yes, only several human minions and an aging, 60-year-old man had been found at the site. All deceased due to resistance to co-operate.

Cold, blue eyes gazed down at the doctor _. All_ employees had passed away. He stepped forward to press his right foot against the man's temple, resulting in a hitched breath. A movement the man beneath him got to practise one last time before his skull cracked and caved in. Instant death, an unfortunate occurrence. It could have been avoided had the doctor not resisted. Or so the report stated.

Eric stepped over the cooling corpse, hands slipping into his pockets. The warehouse had been easy to find. After all, the organisation had catered to specific vampires that knew the Queen personally and had no desire to be involved in human matters. Eric had expected stained walls, visible drains and an overall unwelcoming appearance. However, the warehouse was surprisingly  _nice._

He rolled his shoulders, feeling the muscle stretch comfortably. "Any  _survivors_ , Pam?" Eric murmured softly, eyes searching his surroundings.

A regal woman in her early forties stepped out from the shadows, mouth twisted in displeasure. "Yes," She replied as she swept her blonde hair behind her pale shoulder. "unfortunately." Eric couldn't agree more.

Massaging his temple in exhaustion, Eric tried not to think of the possibly crying -  _wailing_  - and terrorized human beings they'd have to  _rescue_. "How many?"

Pam shifted, red lips curling."Too many."

"…" He lifted his eyebrows.

"…" After a moment of silence, she sighed deeply. "Three… Two women and a man."

"According to the report, none of the victims remember anything." Yes, apparently, someone had been very careful to keep them blissfully drugged the whole time. It was difficult to say how much damage that had been done to their minds. Such a pity really. "Let's fix that, shall we?" Eric whispered with a quick of his lips.

The women were huddled together in a corner, when Pam and Eric arrived at the designated  _prison_  room. Blindfolds drenched with salty tears, snot running and whimpers filling the air. One in particular was older than the other and had obviously taken the role of the protector. She was gripping the younger woman, pressing her face against her chest in an useless attempt at protecting her.

It was obvious why these two had been kidnapped. In human standards, they were beautiful, attractive blood-bags. Eric glanced back at Pam and nodded in a silent command.  _Do what you must._

The sound of relaxed breaths reached Eric's ears and he snapped his gaze away from the pitiful women, towards the only male in the room.

A pale Caucasian man, with messy black hair was sitting silently against the wall. He, too, was blindfolded. However, unlike the women, he was slouched casually against the wall, limbs relaxed and face dry from tears.

The other man was so silent, that had Eric not heard his puffs of breath and the sound of his beating heart he would've thought the man was unconscious.

Sighing loudly, Eric strolled up to the man and ripped the blindfold off, preparing himself to finish the entire ordeal as fast as possible. The black cloth slipped between his fingers as Eric leaned down to grip the young man's jaw, forcing their eyes to meet.

The sight of newly sprouted leaves met his sky-blue eyes. Clear and startlingly green, intense in their apathy.

**To be continued!**


	5. The Price of Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's very short, I know. The next chapter will be much longer, I promise. XD

**The Price of Everything**

A sudden submersion into lukewarm water, comforting in its pressure. A distant memory began to resurface, warming him to his core, until he opened his mouth to inhale, only to feel water rushing into his lungs. Crushing and unforgiving, a nurturing environment suddenly turned against him.

Oh, so tender and warm, almost motherly if he only gave himself to it. If he agreed not to breath, never to inhale.

Harry had certainly heard of the manipulative power that some of vampires were capable of. They were creatures of beauty, taboo and strength: an alluring combination.

However, as the wave rushed by, he realised that their hypnotism held an uncomfortable likeness to another curse. One he had been very familiar with, the Imperius curse.

"Nothing happened here," soft and rumbling, reminding Harry of a brewing storm. For an instant he tried to let the wave sweep him under. Allow it to suffocate him slowly but so sweetly. A shiver ran through his core. A dangerous thought.

The grip on his chin tightened and Harry suddenly realised that he had allowed his eyes to slip shut. Inhaling slowly, he gazed into the two deep pits once again and relaxed into the wall. No use, the manipulating forces were swirling in the air, never quite taking hold. A pitiful attempt at forcing the impossible.

The room had been enveloped in a confused silence. The mayhem of thoughts could be felt in the humid air. Harry was certain that if he held his breath he would be able to hear their thoughts. Exhaling, he allowed an small smile to slip onto his lips. "Should I apologise," his gaze ran down the length of the man. Lean muscles, dirty, blond hair and piercing eyes.

"…" The man's eyebrows furrowed and he leaned forward to study Harry. "For what?"

"Your… attempt at manipulation was admirable, comfortable, even, in its oppressive force. Quite a mind you have there." Harry shrugged. "I thought it best to give you an apology, for not letting my mind be moulded."

His sudden outburst resulted in a lifted eyebrow and an intense stare.

A sigh and the blond man leaned down to grip Harry's shirt. Their eyes met momentarily. Feeling the calmness radiating from his eyes, Harry didn't see any point in resisting. He relaxed as he was hoisted off the ground with frightful ease. Head pushed to the side as he felt the other lean in towards his neck. A cold nose pressing into his heated skin resulted in a light shiver. A deep inhale, before the man leaned back only to let Harry fall down to the cold floor in an undignified heap.

Squirming slightly, movement hindered by bound hands, Harry managed to sit up against the wall once again. He sent a heated glare at the man for good measure.

"You're human," a considering tone.

"Yes," strictly speaking he was.

"Are you immune to manipulations of all kind?" An arrogant smirk graced his face as he stared knowingly down on Harry. "Your reactions tells me that this is far from the first time you've brushed off someone's attempt at manipulating you mind."

Not seeing the point in denying the obvious, he nodded slowly. "I can confirm that… "

The man brushed a hand through his hair, eyes gliding to the side. "Pam." A silent strep forward and Harrison noticed the appearance of a woman: a silent shadow. Her eyes scrutinised him, digging into his very being. "Yes, Eric?" A cracking voice underlined by a seductive smoothness.

Eric dug his hand in his pocket and withdrew a small, white business card. He stepped forward to crouch down, bringing himself down to Harry's level. He pushed the card into Harry's still, bound hands, a smug look on his face. "I'll be looking forward to your visit," he stood, turned and strolled out. Unbothered by the escalating sirens in the distance.

Harry glanced down at the card.

_FANGTASIA_

_ERIC NORTHMAN_

**øØø**

_It think its about time you found some trouble._ She had said one sunny afternoon, clothed in white. Her hair had rustled in the wind, cheeks slightly red from days of sun and a glimmer in her eyes. She had been beautiful.

Harry had laughed at first, trying to brush the comment away.

Hermione had not laughed with him.

_It's time._ Her feet were bare, wrinkled with age. _Go._ The garden was overflowing with life. Grass untamed, roses growing alongside the hedge and sunflowers illuminating the flowerbed. _Go._ A cheeky smile and breathless laugh. D _o something phenomenally foolish. For the both of us._

**øØø**

Her will had been clear and precise. Short even, considering how much she had to share. How he even managed to drag himself out of bed and to the reading still wasn't clear to him. In the end, he'd sat there. Numb and cold, listening to her words from another person's mouth.

For him: a small, greying letter. Heavy and packed to the brim with something soft.

He'd sit for hours in the living room, letting the weight push into his hands, unable to do anything but stare at it.

At first, he'd consider hiding it, forget it and try to live on. However, she had known him too well. Two weeks, three days and seven hours after he'd received it, he had ripped it open. Tears hot on his face.

Inside had been a heavy, rusted key wrapped in a handkerchief. In the corner of the handkerchief her last advice:

_For new adventures, beyond the veil._

Her knowledge was still a mystery. Lost in death.

**øØø**

Harry's first visit to Fangtasia had resulted in a muddled mess of danger and excitement. A whirlwind of Bloody Mary's, narcissistic dates and human trading were certainly a recipe for boredom. If only briefly.

Now, standing outside in broad daylight, he knew exactly why he had decided to return. Even if it lacked the intoxication and danger at daytime, it still held the promise of foolishness.

_For new adventures_

Knowing her, she'd known exactly which kind of adventures he'd find. Grinning quietly to himself, Harry crushed the business card and gripped the door-handle.

He had, after all, promised her to do something phenomenally idiotic.

 

**To be continued!**

 


End file.
